The Kid Who Came From Space

by Ross Welford

  The brakes on Iggy’s ancient bike squeak noisily and we stop on the bridge over the burn. We haven’t said a word since we left the jetty, and I’m so cold I can hardly speak.

  ‘You OK?’ says Iggy. His house is coming up soon. ‘Do you want me to …’

  ‘N … no. I … I’ll be f-fine.’ I just want to get home. To feel safe and warm. I set off to cycle the remaining streets back home, only to find Iggy cycling alongside me anyway.

  That’s nice of him.

  ‘M-Mam thinks I’m at yours anyway,’ I say as we cycle.

  I’m thinking about how I’m going to explain what happened, starting with why I am soaking wet when Iggy says, ‘Come to mine, then. My mum’s gone to Hexham with Fat Stanley.’

  I look at him, puzzled. ‘Her new boyfriend,’ he says without warmth. ‘He’s called Stanley and he’s …’

  ‘Fat?’ I suggest.

  We come in through Iggy’s back door. Our clothes have stopped dripping at least. We stand in his kitchen and begin the horrible process of peeling off our freezing clothes and putting them in the tumble dryer. I put my phone next to Iggy’s cap on the radiator to dry it out and we sit hunched at the scrubbed wooden table with towels wrapped around our waists and draped over our shoulders, watching our clothes go round. The kitchen smells of potato peelings with a faint hint of chicken poo from a litter tray by the door. The sink is full of dishes. The whole place isn’t exactly dirty, but my gran would say, ‘Ee, this place is a midden’, like she says about my bedroom.

  There is something else strange as well.

  ‘Don’t you have Christmas decorations? A tree?’ I say, craning my neck to see if there are cards, or candles, or anything.

  Iggy shrugs. ‘No. My mum doesn’t really believe in it.’

  ‘Doesn’t believe in Christmas?’ I say, astonished.

  ‘She reckons it’s all a trick to make us spend loads of money and want things that we can’t afford. And besides, why cut down a healthy tree?’

  ‘Don’t you get presents?’

  ‘I sometimes get something from my dad,’ he says. ‘When he remembers. And Mum gave a poor family a goat this year. Africa or somewhere. She says giving is better than receiving.’

  Iggy doesn’t sound convinced, but neither of us says anything for a long time, mainly because our teeth are chattering and it’s a while before we’re warm enough to sit without shaking.

  Outside a wind chime tinkles.

  Finally, Iggy takes a deep breath and whispers, ‘So that all happened, then? For real?’

  I nod slowly without looking up from the revolving clothes.

  ‘What are we going to say, Tait? Are you going to tell your mum and dad?’

  I tilt my head back and let it rest on the wall behind me. ‘I think I’m going to have to, Iggy. I mean … what choice do we have? Problem is me mam. She’s pretty … fragile. She’ll worry. She’ll worry that I’ve gone crazy. She’ll be upset that someone even said that – you know, or you won’t see your sister again. She’ll worry that we went out on the water. I don’t want to do that to her.’

  We are silent for a bit as we think.

  ‘Tell your dad first?’

  ‘That … that thing said not to tell anyone.’

  ‘But what can we do, on our own? Tait, face it: we’re kids. If this is some … I dunno, some weirdo in a costume …’

  ‘Which it isn’t. We know that.’

  He sighs. ‘I know. But if it is, then we need to tell the police.’

  ‘All right. But we know it isn’t some weirdo in a costume. You know – the massive splashes, the … the stick thing that healed your leg, the fact she just … vanished.’

  Iggy lifts up his leg to examine the scars again. They seem to have healed even more.

  I run my finger over the scar. ‘Look, man! That’s just not possible, Iggy!’

  Iggy sits up again. ‘And the Geiger counter those two men had. I know about them from a comic I had. Did you ever read Paranormal Investigator? Doesn’t matter. A Geiger counter is what people use to look for evidence of … of …’

  He trails off. I think it’s because he doesn’t want to say it. As if saying it will make it real, and if it’s real then that will change everything.

  ‘Of what?’ I know what he’s going to say.

  And he says it. ‘Radiation. From spaceship landings.’

  I knock my head against the wall again and exhale loudly. ‘We have to tell someone, Iggy. I mean, this is … massive. It’s, like, army and government and air force massive.’

  We get dressed at last, our clothes warm and fluffy from the dryer. Somehow, being dressed and dry straightens our heads out a bit.

  It’s decided: we’ll go and tell my parents what happened.

  It’s the only sensible option.

  I see the blue lights flashing through the darkness as we approach the Stargazer and my heart flutters: are the police here with news about Tammy? I hardly dare to hope, but still I pick up my pace as we cycle up the driveway. I’m already imagining throwing my arms around Tammy and telling her that I am sorry about what I said, and singing ‘The Chicken Hop’ song together, and …

  … the ambulance car drives away from the Stargazer as Iggy and I get near and it doesn’t stop. The windows are blacked out, but I kind of know.

  Dad is in the doorway of the pub. Before I can say anything, he growls, ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying your phone for ages. It’s your mam. She’s …’ He stops mid-sentence to take a few deep breaths.

  Gran appears in the doorway behind him. She puts one hand on his shoulder and says, ‘Come on, son’, and they turn to go inside.

  Gran looks back at me and then at Iggy. Iggy gets the message.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he says. ‘I … I hope your mum’s OK.’

  I don’t really want him to go, but I can tell he wants to.

  ‘Text me,’ he says and, before I can protest, he’s on his bike, pedalling away.

  I follow Dad and Gran inside.

  The pub has been more or less shut down since Tammy’s disappearance – at least, as a pub. Instead it has become the headquarters of the search operation. There are more of the posters inside the bar, piles of printed leaflets with my sister’s face on them, and the COME HOME, TAMMY banner hanging by one corner in the window. The pool table in the middle of the room is covered with posters and notepads and pizza boxes. There are empty paper cups and full bin bags – everything left behind as, day after day, the village search turns up nothing, and determination and confidence give way to desperate hope, which in turn gives way to no hope at all.

  Aunty Annikka – Mam’s older sister – sits at a table dabbing her eyes with a tissue while Uncle Jan holds her other hand, jutting out his jaw.

  In the corner of the empty pub lounge is a little Christmas tree: a glittery, fake one, with coloured lights that have been switched off for days now. Beneath the tree are too many presents to count – big ones, small ones, all of them wrapped with paper and ribbons. Every single label is addressed to Tamara, or Tammy, all in different handwriting. They say things like:

  Come home, Tammy. We miss you. From Hexham Swim Dragons xxxx

  God bless you, Tammy. From Father Nick O’Neil

  Please come home! From your friends at Culvercot Primary

  I feel a tightness in my throat.

  Dad is blinking hard as well. He sits down heavily and I join him while Gran pads off in her huge trainers to fetch tea, then he swallows and takes a deep breath.

  ‘Your mam, Ethan,’ he begins, ‘she’s not at all well. She was found on the top moor, barefoot and very confused. She’s …’

  ‘Who found her?’ I say. This is horrific.

  ‘Jack Natrass was on his quad bike taking hay to his sheep. He brought her back here. She didn’t … she wasn’t …’ Dad pauses again and I think he’s going to cry but instead he takes a sip of the tea that Gran has put in front of him.

  Gran says, ‘Your ma
m has had a sort of breakdown, Ethan. Kind of … mental exhaustion. It’s the worry and the grief and … well, everything.’

  Dad sighs again. ‘The police were here. Inspector Fodden and the other one. They said they were scaling back the search locally and that we should prepare ourselves for … the worst news. Your mam took it very badly and, well …’ He stopped because there wasn’t much more to say.

  The worst news.

  Gran says, ‘Your mam’s been taken to a special hospital. St George’s in Morpeth. They know how to look after her.’

  ‘How long for?’ I say.

  ‘We don’t know for certain.’ She gives me a tight little smile. ‘A few days and she should be OK to come home.’

  ‘I tried to call your phone, son,’ says Dad, but more gently this time. ‘Where were you?’

  I look between Gran and Dad. He’s a big bloke, my dad. In fact, I don’t know anyone bigger, or stronger. But right now, he looks shrunken. His face is thinner and his hand trembles a little when he lifts his cup.

  There is no way – no way at all – that I can find the right words to tell Dad what happened this afternoon. Not right now at any rate.

  ‘Sorry, Dad. Dead battery – I forgot to charge it.’

  I get up and throw my arms around Dad, and he buries his face in my hair and hugs me hard, and allows a little sob to escape. He doesn’t smell too good, actually, and his breath is bad, but I don’t really mind.

  Later on, after Dad has gone to lie down, Gran points to the little Christmas tree and says, ‘Come on, Ethan. Let’s put these somewhere safe.’

  And so me and Gran, and Aunty Annikka and silent Uncle Jan, carefully pack all of the presents addressed to Tammy into two large cardboard boxes and put them in a store cupboard for safekeeping. We dismantle the little fake Christmas tree and put that away too and move the lounge chairs back into position till the room looks back to normal.

  I think it’s the saddest job I have ever done in my life.

  And all the while, there are two voices in my head. My own, which is yelling: You have to tell someone! And that of a wheezy, hairy alien saying: Or you’ll never see your sister again.

  I look at the three adults. Aunty Annikka? Nope, too wobbly. Uncle Jan? He doesn’t really do talking – I think I’ve only ever exchanged about ten words with him in my life, and his English is not all that good. So that leaves Gran.

  My tiny, weather-beaten, tracksuited Gran will soon learn all about it.

  ‘Gran?’

  It’s a couple of hours later, and Gran and I are back in our little house behind the pub. Dad has gone back to the Stargazer for the evening shift, even though there are probably no customers. (He put on a clean shirt, but he still looked awful. He ruffled my hair and told me that Mam would be all right.) Aunty Annikka and Uncle Jan are in their room above the pub.

  Gran and I are on the sofa eating a donated shepherd’s pie and watching TV but not paying attention. When I say her name, she looks at me, head tipped on one side, eyebrows knitted together in concern. She has short, white hair and one of those lean old faces that could belong to a man or a woman, but, behind her glasses, her brown eyes are full of kindness.

  ‘Yes, Ethan, pet?’

  I have gone through this in my head as a sort of rehearsal, but I can’t get straight what I want to say. In the end I decide there’s no alternative to just saying it however it comes out.

  ‘Iggy and I met someone today. Someone who told us that, erm …’ I dry up, like an actor forgetting his lines in a play.

  What did she tell us, though?

  Did she tell us that Tammy was safe? No.

  Did she tell us what had happened to Tammy? No.

  Did she tell us that she knew where Tammy was? No.

  I am still dithering.

  Gran tips her head more, as if to say, Go on …

  ‘We met someone down by the water who … who mentioned Tammy.’

  ‘OK …’ says Gran, carefully. ‘Who was this person?’ She keeps looking at me while she mutes the TV with the remote.

  ‘She didn’t … Well, she said her name was … Hellyann?’ This is not going well. I can tell that my voice is hesitant and unconvincing, although I’ve started now …

  Gran goes: ‘A she? Hmmm?’

  ‘And … and she said we should say nothing or we wouldn’t see Tammy again.’

  ‘Say nothing about what, exactly?’

  ‘About … about meeting her. And she knew my name.’

  ‘What did this person look like?’

  Oh no. ‘She was kind of smallish, and hairy – like, all over – and … and naked …’

  Gran’s eyebrows shoot up, then descend slowly, but she doesn’t say anything.

  Oh heck, this sounds ridiculous, I think, but I have no choice now but to continue.

  ‘And she had this stick that she stopped Iggy’s leg bleeding with. He had a massive fish hook in it …’

  Still ridiculous …

  ‘And then she disappeared, vanished, when the big dog arrived – Sheba, you know – and said we had to say nothing or we’d never see Tammy again.’

  Gran looks at me for the longest time, playing with the toggle on her tracksuit zip. Maybe she’s working out whether to believe me, or what to do. Eventually, she opens her wiry arms and says, ‘Come here, Ethan’, and I have no choice really but to shift over on the sofa into her embrace.

  She squeezes me with her muscly arms and says, ‘Oh, Ethan. You poor, poor boy.’ Then I feel her chest shaking beneath me, and I realise she is crying. She strokes my hair and I hear her swallow loudly and take a deep breath. She says again, ‘You poor boy.’

  ‘It’s true, Gran! Honestly, I’m not lying!’ I say, and she hugs me even harder.

  I say nothing more: I get it. She doesn’t believe me, but she feels sorry for me as well.

  As soon as I can, I disentangle myself from Gran and go up to my room, where I lie on my bed.

  My phone has dried out but not everything is working properly. I can’t make calls or play games, but I can send text messages.

  Is your mum OK?

  Yeah. Thx. In hospital w/ ‘nervous

  exhaustion’. Should be out in a few

  days. Thought you had no phone?

  I don’t. This is my tablet.

  Did you tell anyone?

  Dad upset cos of Mam, so I told my

  gran. She thought I was making

  it up and hugged me a lot cos

  she thinks I’m going nuts. You?

  Same but no hugs. Mum says I was bad to

  encourage you to have false hope and that I

  should stop making up lies because it’s bad karma.

  Fat Stanley laughed till his moobs wobbled.

  Face it, Tait: we have no proof.

  But it happened, right?

  Yeah. Def.

  There’s a pause. I guess we’re both wondering what could happen next. After a minute or two, Iggy comes back to me:

  So we go back tomorrow and find out more?

  It’s only one word. Two letters. But it seems to take ages to type. And even longer before I press ‘send’.

  OK

  I was on my laptop till about 2am last night looking up ‘alien abduction’ – that’s what it’s called when someone is supposed to have been kidnapped by a spaceship.

  To be honest, it has made me more confused and scared than I was already. A lot of the stories are very, very convincing. But then I only had to search ‘alien abductions debunked’ to understand that almost all of them were made up by people who were:

  A) proven liars, or

  B) pranksters, or

  C) people with some proper mental problems.

  There were tales of spaceships ‘beaming up’ cars, and cows, and farmers in Arizona and New Mexico. There was an interview with the parents of a young man called Carlo who went missing in the 1980s and every day they wait for him to return, even though they’re both really old now. There was
a story in a newspaper about a World War Two bomber plane being found on the moon, and a film of doctors examining the body of a dead alien in something called the Roswell incident. I followed the trail of links and eventually they almost all turned out to be outright lies or clever hoaxes.

  I watched video after video on YouTube labelled ‘genuine UFO sighting!’ These were either:

  A) blurry, shaky home videos of lights in the sky which really could have been anything, or

  B) teenagers messing about. One, I’m almost certain, was a kid called Jonas from Year Nine in our school with a painted beach ball on a string – 10.3K views.

  Some people, it seems, will go to amazing trouble to deceive other people.

  But then …

  I keep saying ‘almost all’. You see, there were one or two, maybe three, that were quite convincing. Carlo’s parents, for example. Or recordings from military aircraft of pilots who had seen things moving faster than any object could possibly move.

  Pilots aren’t going to lie, are they?

  And then there was an article on an Australian website. It was recent.

  WONGAN HILLS MAN’S CHRISTMAS CLOSE ENCOUNTER WITH ‘HAIRY ALIEN’

  WONGAN HILLS, WESTERN AUSTRALIA

  26 DECEMBER

  A Wongan Hills man has described the moment on Christmas Eve when he fought with a ‘humanoid creature’ that he believes was trying to capture him.

  John Roper, fifty-five, was driving home to Wongan Hills on Hospital Road on Friday 24 December, after visiting friends out of town when a flat tyre caused him to stop at the side of the road. It was about 6pm and the sun was going down.

  ‘I took the opportunity to step off the road for a pee, when I saw this thing coming towards me from out in the bush. At first I thought it was a kangaroo, because it’s the right kind of height, but when it got closer I saw it was running on two legs.’